Old Susan kept the Geldeston Lock House,
Pub that wun't like any other,
You moor up there and oh brother!
If you wun't a customer,
She would come and bend your ear,
And tell you orf most severe,
Rather old and rather quare,
But if you stop to talk to her,
She might even let you stay,
Long as you come in and pay,
For a round or two of beer
And the bit that was so quare,
No road nor electricity,
No barrelled ales, so you see,
All the beer that come in bottles,
All the light, that come in candles.
So we come
on the Albion,
As far as anyone had gone
For so very many a year
To the pub that had no beer,
Part from what we just discussed,
All the bottled brown ale stuff,
So she come and see us there,
An' she start to cuss an swear,
Then she swear and then she cuss,
When she see the likes of us,
Tied up all along her staithe,
Believe me she was dismayed,
Until she see what we'd come on -
That was the wherry Albion,
"Cor blast, you'd better come in then,
Thas yares since I seen one o' them..."
Next day
woke up early morn,
Wishing we'd been never born,
Feeling wan and feeling pale,
All along that bottled ale,
One of us as wun't half dead,
Had a nose in her old shed,
Dug out some junk and o mi gord,
He's pulled out some old notice board...
That carefully put on display,
The money that you had to pay,
Just to get you out of hock,
And go through old Geldeston Lock,
But what was so very quare,
It had been closed this many a year,
Whatever anyone might say,
You couldn't get to far Bungay...
But take a
board and take a knife,
Try to carve it, oh my life,
The easiest way is to begin,
By digging all the letters in,
But this one, swear to god I say,
That wus made the opposite way,
Lots of work, I dun't know how'd
They made the letters all stand proud.
Next thing
to say thas even quarer,
Five years on with my girl Sarah,
Come on down to that old pub,
To get some beer and hear's the rub...
Old Susan, she wun't thar no more
Giv'n pass'n boats what for,
Someone's gorn put in a road,
All the old stuff's gone or stowed,
Barrelled ales and bottled louts,
Piped canned muzak blaring out,
Surrounded with electric lights,
What a sad and dismal sight.
Andy
Morley May 18th 2007
